Of Memories and Agonies
by FullmetalMono
Summary: I couldn't have said no - he was right. The closest we'd be able to get to her would be with each other. Worse, I needed her too, and he knew it. I would commit any sin to be close to her, now. Guy/Robin. Spoilers for up to S03E11.


**Title: **Of Memories and Agonies

**Word Count: **777

**Characters: **Robin Hood, Guy of Gisbourne, mentions of Marian

**Warnings: **_SPOILERS_ for the end of Season 2, and most of Season 3

**Summary:** _I couldn't have said no - he was right. The closest we'd be able to get to her would be with each other. Worse, I needed her too, and he knew it. I would commit any sin to be close to her, now._

**A/N:** Any mistakes (in grammar, spelling, or canon storyline) are my own, and _I welcome any critiques_. And the usual disclaimer, of course, is that I do not own these characters, this world, or the storyline of the BBC's television series. All I own is this little tale.

As a side note, forgive my terrible, terrible title.

* * *

><p>It's late when we arrive at an inn in York. "On'y one room left," the innkeeper says, "but it's got two beds, so yeh'll both fit." We're tired – we'd probably share a bed if we had to, anything to get some rest before we try to rescue Archer in the morning.<p>

There are no words shared between us as we snuff out the candles. The only sounds that need hearing are the squeaks of the floorboards, the rustle of bedclothes, and the grunts as Gisbourne struggles out of his leathers.

I'm nearly asleep when I feel him crawl onto my bed. "Locksley," I hear him murmur. He's close, far too close. When I open my eyes, I can clearly make out his face close to my own, his eyes flashing in the moonlight that pours in through the open shutters.

He leans forward, his lips brush my ear. "I need her, Hood. And you're the closest-" He cuts himself off; I can hear him choke on his words. "Please…" It's pain I'd seen in his eyes, pain I hear now in his voice.

I couldn't have said no - he was right. The closest we'd be able to get to her would be with each other. Worse, I needed her too, and he knew it. I would commit any sin to be close to her, now.

I must have nodded, or given some show of agreement. He was quick, methodical in removing the clothes we had planned to sleep in. Then he was under the covers, chest against my back.

It hurt, God in Heaven it hurt. But it was _nothing_ compared to the agony my life had become since I'd watched that sword plunged into her gut. It was _nothing_ compared to the agony of watching her life fade under that hot Acre sun. It could be considered irony that it was the man who'd done that to her that was ridding me of that agony now.

We loved her, and we love her still. And we miss her, so much. Kate will never be a replacement for her, not entirely. Isabella would have been no more than the warmth of flesh against mine. And this Meg that Gisbourne happened to mention on our way here, well… Even if she'd lived she wouldn't have been enough for him.

But there's no real love between Gisbourne and I, not now, not ever. We would be allies, yes, united in our fight against his sister and over the half-brother we shared, but we would never love each other. This is just raw pain, manifesting itself into this carnal act, making us close to her.

For now, that pain is leaving us. I feel free.

"Marian," Gisbourne groans, ripping me from my thoughts. He shudders, finally, above and behind me, and then falls still.

I can't resent him for speaking to her, not really. It was never for me that he'd done this. And I had been thinking of her, the whole time. He's just the one to have the courage to say her name when all I can do is clutch it close, and let he who took her from me somehow rid me of my suffering. I can barely hold in my humourless bark of laughter when I think of what she'd say if she saw us both now.

But then, she might have simply repeated, 'everything is a choice'. Well, I suppose I've just made mine.

He doesn't stay, just long enough to catch his breath. My pain has mostly vanished, no more now than a dull ache rather than the stabbing in my heart, sharper than the blade that killed her. Gisbourne says nothing, leaves no lingering lover's touches as he climbs from my bed and fumbles across the room to his own. As I roll over to present my back to him, I know there'll be no words about this in the morning, either. Our thanks to each other would be our commitment to our upcoming task. And this would never be repeated, no.

A once off. Our pain had grown too great to bear alone. Our other emotions had been thrown into turmoil after my father had found us and forced the truth of our shared history upon us. We had simply needed relief.

So when we do wake at dawn, we dress in silence. We eat our simple breakfast at the inn in silence. We saddle our horses and ride onwards to York Castle in silence. And it's only when we stop to eat in a dingy tavern and plan Archer's rescue that we finally speak.

And we do so without pain.


End file.
